


Unraveled

by bgharison



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: First Time, Kono is always one step ahead, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 14:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7718977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgharison/pseuds/bgharison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And that’s it, that’s Danny’s whole life, everything he thought he ever knew and everything he never knew he wanted, unraveled, right there, unwoven and undone on Steve’s front porch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unraveled

It’s how he solves cases, really.  He looks at all the evidence, looks at the facts, looks at the lies, all carefully woven together . . . and he picks at it, pulls at it, twists it this way and that until he finds it.  A loose thread, something that sticks out, something that doesn’t fit.  And then he pulls, and with any luck, the whole thing unravels, and they find a lead, and it’s dangling people off rooftops and book ‘em Danno.  Then he goes home -- on a normal night, to an empty apartment; on a good night, to pick up Gracie for mac and cheese and homework and then, too often, back home, but he’ll take what he can get, he moved halfway around the world for this.

 

So when despite not looking too closely -- very carefully, very deliberately, very purposefully  _ not looking too closely _ \-- he finds a loose thread in the crazy weave of partner-friendship-working-relationship that he has with the walking sanity threatening menace that is Steve McGarrett, he avoids picking at it for as long as possible.  His life is crazy enough, thank you very much, what with the shooting and the potential of falling coconuts, and people who put pineapple on pizza.  

 

He gets by with this for quite a while, and things stay pretty neatly woven.  Sure, Steve is shirtless half the time and Danny can see the little thread, way off to the side there, in his peripheral vision, of what possibly, maybe, could be a very fine -- very fine, very thin, hair-like, really -- thread of attraction.  But, seriously, it’s Steve, all tattoos and sun bronzed muscle, and honestly.  Like, you’d have to be practically comatose not to  _ notice _ .  He notices that Kono is smokin’ hot, too; doesn’t mean he’s inclined to act on it or anything.  That would be inappropriate and also Chin has a shotgun.  So Danny doggedly tucks the thread back into the partner-friendship-working-relationship weave; there, loose end, tied up neatly, with a neat explanation.  Noticing, after all, is just noticing.  

 

The inexplicable, frankly warm and fuzzy feeling he keeps encountering . . . that’s a little harder to weave back into place.  Because, honestly, that’s new and more than a bit unsettling.  The super SEAL has gone and gotten himself concussed -- again -- and Danny is the de facto one man concussion crew -- again -- and he finds himself lying awake on Steve’s sofa, because the stupid waves are crashing crashing crashing, and he tried very hard to put a name, a word, a description on this alien warm and fuzzy feeling.  It’s something similar to what he felt for Rachel but obviously --  _ obviously _ , he emphasizes, for effect -- without the physical attraction.  He thinks about the look on Steve’s face when he came to after being unconscious for what was only a minute but felt much longer; that look of confusion as his hazel eyes locked on Danny, that look of sheer and utter relief, that look that said without a single word that even though Steve still had zero idea where he was or what the hell had happened, his trust was implicit that as long as Danny was there, it was okay and what the hell, how was that even . . . and so what was this  _ feeling _ that Danny was experiencing, based entirely on this  _ look _ .  He skirted past affection, because whoa, and settled on . . . fond.  Okay, so that thread could be shoved back into place, maybe not quite as neatly, but still, partners --  _ law enforcement _ partners, thank you -- who regularly found themselves in life threatening situations could develop feelings of fondness.  He was fond of Grace Tillwell, right, fond enough to name a child after her, for crying out loud.  Fond, after all, is just fond.  

 

But Steve, apparently, is hell bent on picking at the threads that Danny keeps firmly tucking back into place.  And it’s making Danny crazy, because seriously, how is this his life?  Steve, with his casual disregard for things like protocol and procedure, and his propensity for grabbing bad guys and yanking their arms up behind them at odd angles and shoving them over the hood of the Camaro -- because, okay, Danny brought the Camaro into this relationship, and how is it that now the Camaro is the default vehicle and Steve the default driver and also, also, how is it that Danny just used the word  _ relationship _ to describe . . . never mind -- and all Danny can think about is that day, that first day, when Steve had him bent over the Camaro, and the feel of Steve’s hand wrapped around his arm.  Danny’s arms are not skinny, right, because in Jersey you may not swim with the dolphins but you hit the gym, and Danny knows, he knows that his forearms are thickly muscled because he’s short, okay, but he is  _ built _ , and Steve’s fingers wrapped all the way around his arm.  Easily.  

 

And overlapped.  

 

And now Steve is snapping the fingers of his free hand in Danny’s face to get his attention, and following the line of Danny’s vision where it’s landed, and stuck, God help him, on Steve’s hand wrapped around the perp’s arm where he has it jacked up behind his back.

 

Steve smirks.

 

“Shut up,” Danny says, and Steve smirks again, and it’s a smirk that Danny hasn’t seen before, not directed toward him, it’s the same damn smirk that Steve had on his face the last time Catherine was in port and  _ shit _ .  Maybe this is more than just noticing.  Danny lets  _ noticing _ go and gives in to  _ attraction _ and that thread is out, out to stay, out and loose, and holy hell Danny just used the word  _ out _ in his head three times in succession, and he just can’t even.

 

Steve is slapping the cuffs on the guy and Danny is watching, and it’s like a train wreck but he can’t tear his eyes away, and then Steve is shoving the guy at Danny, and Danny grabs the guy like he’s a lifepreserver in shark infested waters and keeps him firmly  _ in front of him _ because Danny can not . . . okay, he can  _ not _ be having this little situation, right here in front of HPD and innocent civilians in the middle of the day.  If this is going to happen every time Steve cuffs someone over the hood of the Camaro, that’s it, game over, he’s going to have to transfer back to HPD.

 

And oh, God, Steve is still smirking, so Danny shoves the guy into the back of the HPD cruiser and then wordlessly stalks away, away, as in his back turned to Steve, and climbs into Kono’s little red sports car, because it’s always full of crap and he can find something -- there, an issue of Guns and Ammo -- and casually put it in his lap.

 

Which turns out to be a big freaking mistake because Kono, seriously, Chin wasn’t kidding, they were so lucky to grab her fresh out of the academy because the girl does not miss anything.  Not  _ anything _ , if the smirk she’s tossing in Danny’s direction is any indication.

 

“Shut up,” he says for the second time at this one crime scene.  

 

Kono pats his knee sympathetically and looks at him with those chocolate brown eyes and she opens her mouth to speak and Danny thinks oh no, here it comes.

 

“It does it for me, too, brah,” she says, as she nods knowingly, their little secret, shared experience and what not.

 

Danny’s brain stutters to a complete halt.

 

Later that week, because Steve is an adrenaline fueled idiot who won’t wait for backup, Danny gets shot.  Shot, okay, and screw this “just a graze” shit because it hurts, and it’s possibly Steve’s fault.  But Steve, he’s bent over in half and trying to remember how to breathe, because he stepped in front -- in front -- of Danny, and took out the drug-crazed shooter, one shot, neat, between the eyes, and Danny just has the one bullet embedded in the wall behind him and his arm bleeding, but Steve has two bullets embedded in his vest.

 

Please, dear God, let them be embedded in his vest.

 

And Danny can’t stop the litany of curses and endearments, tumbling mixed and interchangeable out of his mouth, as he rips at the velcro on Steve’s vest as if it’s personally offended him.

 

“Babe, babe, holy shit,” he pants, “you crazy ass idiot, buddy, are you okay, you giant ridiculous deluded nut case, partner, are you hit?  Where are you hit, Steven?  Answer me, God, you freak, please be okay, babe, you are such a freaking menace, are you bleeding, love?”

 

And Steve goes perfectly still underneath Danny’s frantic hands and  _ shit _ .

 

“It’s a British thing, okay? It’s like the British version of babe; picked it up from Rachel,” Danny says, but Steve -- who still has yet to take a breath, and Danny doesn’t know if that’s okay, because, SEAL, or if it means that both of Steve’s lungs have collapsed -- Steve reaches up a hand (a huge, strong, hand and Danny remembers that it can wrap all the way around his arm, and then some) and presses against Danny’s bleeding arm.  And Steve is squeezing, because, okay, direct pressure to stop the bleeding, but he’s also  _ squeezing _ , like he’s exploring Danny’s bicep and noticing and appreciating the fact that Danny’s bicep is very nice, actually, that it always has been under those ubiquitous button downs.  

 

But mostly, Steve is hanging on to Danny the way Danny is holding on to Steve . . . and Danny’s holding on to Steve like he’s precious, and valuable, and absolutely, utterly indispensable.  

 

And finally -- finally -- Steve manages to breathe, and he sucks in this ragged, shaky breath and when he exhales it’s Danny’s name on his lips.  Sort of.

 

“Danno,” he breathes, and the hand, the one that isn’t stopping Danny’s blood from spilling out of his body, touches Danny’s face reverently.  And Danny realizes that his hands have curled around Steve, one hand curled in the belt loop of his cargo pants, and one hand wrapped protectively around Steve’s ribcage, where he knows that already a huge bruise is blossoming, and they need to get that x-rayed.  

 

“You okay?” Steve says, looking down at Danny, those ocean hazel eyes all full of concern and something undefinable that is not just a loose thread, okay, it’s a freaking streamer, like a piece of crime scene tape in caution yellow flapping in the breeze.

 

“Am I -- you stepped in front of  _ bullets _ , Steven, multiple bullets,” Danny says, and he hears the tone in his voice, and it’s . . . okay, so Danny just gives up, gives up on  _ fond _ , right there, he knows  _ affection _ when it hits him over the head.

 

“He was shooting at you, Danny,” Steve says, like it’s the only thing that makes sense.

 

Danny has a sense of several threads unraveling at once, but then Kono and Chin are racing over, beckoning for EMTs to follow them, and then there is the paperwork involved because Steve shot someone, again.  By the time it’s all over, Danny has stitches in his arm, and they’re threads, sticking out and poking him, and seriously, isn’t that a metaphor for his life right now.

 

Things start to unravel further when he goes to pick up Gracie that weekend, and she isn’t quite ready, and Rachel offers him a cup of tea while she packs up her little backpack.  And Danny sighs, resigned to this, this packing Gracie back and forth.  It’s not what he ever wanted, but honestly, Rachel wasn’t the only one who failed in their failed marriage, and it is what it is.

 

“Daniel,” Rachel says, kindly, looking at him softly.  She still does that, sometimes, usually when Stan is out of town, and Danny won’t look at that too closely, either, because  _ no _ .  That’s not a loose thread, their marriage; no, that’s been severed, neat and clean.  

 

“Yes, my dark queen,” Danny quips, because he can do that now.  

 

“You can let yourself be happy, you know,” she says, putting her hand on his.  “I’m well established as the parent who found someone new first.  Gracie doesn’t expect you to remain celibate forever.”

 

“I’m not interested in another woman, Rachel,” Danny says.  

 

Rachel arches an eyebrow at him.  “Well, obviously,” she says, rolling her eyes like Danny is the world’s most enormous imbecile.  

 

Danny again has a sense of life unraveling, but at that moment Gracie walks into the kitchen, with her backpack in place and her little pink rolling suitcase in hand.  His beautiful baby girl, the best thing in his life, and while he doesn’t regret one thing he’s sacrificed for her, this is not what he imagined -- life on an island, no other relatives, no aunts and uncles and it breaks his heart every damn time because a little girl should have more than two parents who no longer live together and a kind, if somewhat clueless, stepStan.  

 

“Danno?” Gracie is saying, and she’s looking up at him, and he has got to stop this.  He’s got to pull it together, literally, and metaphorically.

 

Rachel sees them to the door, bends and gives Gracie a warm, if yet dignified, kiss, and then kisses Danny, quickly, on the cheek, but she whispers on her way past his ear.

 

“Please, let yourself be happy, Daniel.  Life is too short to deny who you are, who you love,” Rachel whispers, nodding at him firmly, and he feels like she’s tugging, tugging at the very fabric of his existence.  And really, she’s always done that, hasn’t she?

 

Gracie fastens the seatbelt and Danny smiles at her.  “What would you like to do this weekend, sweetie?”

 

“Can we go to Uncle Steve’s house?” Gracie asks, bouncing a little in her seat.  “He said that we could come anytime, really and truly, and that he would let me swim and that if I get up early enough, there’s a pod of dolphins that goes by the house, and we can see them from the porch.  The lanai,” she corrects herself.  “Please Daddy?”

 

Danny hesitates, and Gracie looks up at him, with those eyes, the eyes that she clearly got from Rachel, and when was he ever able to deny either of them anything, even when it was  _ Daniel, I’ve met someone else and I’d like to try to make it work _ and oh, my God, he is so screwed.  He’s sighing and dialing Steve’s number, and when did Steve make it to number one on speed dial?

 

Gracie listens for the magic words of  _ are you sure it’s not an imposition _ and  _ thanks, I have my go-bag in my car so we’ll just head straight there _ .  She squeals in delight and bounces in her seat and God, how did Danny get so lucky, that his kid is so awesome and that spending the night at his partner’s --  _ law enforcement partner _ , thank you -- house and waking up early to look at dolphins is all it takes to make her over the moon happy?  And he only gets her for one night this week; he has to have her back before dinner on Saturday, some family banquet event at one of stepStan’s properties, but the idea of sharing her with Steve doesn’t make him resentful, or wistful, or anything and he can’t, he absolutely can’t look too closely at the fact that he’s smiling as big as Gracie as they stop and pick up a pizza -- no, absolutely, no pineapple, I  _ specifically said _ no pineapple -- and head to Steve’s house.

 

Steve opens the door and immediately has an armful of Gracie, because she’s launched herself at him -- just launched, with implicit trust that he’s going to catch her, because it’s Steve.  And Danny looks at them, really  _ looks _ at Steve, whose eyes are filled with some combination of wonder and affection as he holds Gracie so easily with one arm, and his other arm is reaching for Danny, as if he’s not realizing what he’s doing, until he catches himself and grabs Gracie’s bag out of Danny’s hand, which is completely unnecessary and makes the aborted gesture all the more obvious.

 

“Hey,” Steve says, dropping a kiss on the top of Gracie’s head but looking at Danny while he does so, looking at him through those ridiculous lashes and that’s it, there’s no weaving it back in now, it’s attraction and affection and how,  _ how _ did Rachel know this before he did?

 

He’s hanging on by a thread, here.  

 

By the time they’ve done pizza, and Disney, and bathtime, and homework -- because if you don’t take advantage of someone who has done cryptology, seriously, for a living, when faced with the new math, you are a foolish, foolish person -- Danny is more than abundantly ready for the drink that Steve offers.

 

“Yes, God, please,” Danny says, his voice strangled, and Steve looks at him strangely, puts the beer back in the fridge, and pulls out the whiskey.  He wordlessly pours each of them a shot, and with nothing more than a tilt of Steve’s head, and a nod of Danny’s, they’re on the lanai, watching the play of the last rays of the sun over the water, and when, exactly, did they start reading each other’s minds?

 

Moments pass in silence, and Danny enjoys the slow burn of the whiskey, letting it take the sharpest edge off his rising panic.  It’s going well for him until Steve speaks.

 

“Danny,” he says, and his voice is a little rough, just fatigue rough, because it’s been a long week, and then there was the lengthy explanation of variables with Gracie, and when did they start learning this stuff in grade school, is what Danny wants to know, among other things.  Steve clears his throat and tries again.  “You okay, Danny?  Is there . . . is everything okay, with Gracie, and Rachel, and you know.  Everything?”

 

Danny chuckles because where does he even begin to answer that?   _ Hey, yeah, fine, it’s just that I’ve noticed that I noticed you, and that maybe I’m more fond of you than I ever was of my partner Grace, who by the way, was a chick.  And maybe once I started pulling on that thread, things started to unravel and I realized that I was actually attracted to you, I mean, like I could be attracted to Kono, and that also, I have certain feelings for you, like the ones that I once had for Rachel, who, by the way, along with Kono, are also chicks.  Other than that, everything is just hunky dory. _

 

Instead, Danny takes another sip of his whiskey, and says, in the most normal voice he can manage, “I’m fine, Steven, everything is fine.  It’s been a long week, though, and Gracie wants to be up at the ass crack of dawn to try to see the dolphins, so I’m going to go to sleep.”

 

He doesn’t sleep.  He lies awake, with the stupid waves crashing the the background -- again, and isn’t this exactly how this whole mess started -- and tries to quantify, to identify, to analyse this mess that he’s gotten himself in to.  And no use trying to tell Danny Williams to just “roll with it, brah” or whatever the phrase would be, because “rolling with it” is not how Danny made detective well ahead of schedule and well ahead of his fellow academy graduates.  No, for better or for worse, Danny is a thinker.

 

Worse, as it turns out, because apparently, Steve is also having trouble sleeping. Danny would hazard that Steve is tossing and turning, if the creaking of the bedframe in protest of almost two hundred pounds of Navy muscle -- finely tuned, sun bronzed, tattooed, corded, Navy muscle -- is any indication.  Danny considers, and quickly discards, the idea of checking on Steve, in case he’s in the throes of one of his PTSD nightmares, because Danny’s been witness to those, and this doesn’t sound like that.  At all.  This  _ sounds _ like Danny  _ feels _ \-- restless energy, pent up frustration, and Danny groans aloud.

 

There is dead silence from upstairs, and Danny clamps a hand over his mouth, not that it’s going to do any good now, of course, and holds his breath.  What if Steve thinks that he’s having a nightmare and comes to check on him?  

 

Danny puts a pillow over his lap, just in case.

 

He must have dozed off, at some point, because Gracie is poking his arm gently, and Steve is standing behind her, two cups of steaming coffee in hand.

 

“Danno,” Gracie whispers, in that loud, not at all whisper that kids do, “come see if the dolphins swim by today.”

 

“Okay, monkey,” Danny says, and he does a bit of mental recon, a systems check, if you will, and yep, thank all of his lucky stars it’s safe for him to stand up without traumatizing his precious innocent child, so he swings his feet to the floor and pushes up with a grunt as his trick knee protests.

 

“You okay?” Steve asks, again, and his voice is rough, again, this time with both fatigue and sleep and a hint of something else that Danny refuses to examine (it’s concern, okay?  Genuine concern is what it is, although Danny has refused to examine it, he labels it quickly).  

 

Danny just nods and takes the coffee and wonders how he’s going to get through the . . . nine.  Nine hours until he can safely take his leave, take Gracie back to Rachel, perhaps take a moment to yell, loud and long, at Rachel because seriously this?  This is largely her fault.

 

Thankfully, his Gracie is charming and delightful, and fills Steve’s empty-except-for-the-ghosts-of-dead-parents house and yard with such light, and such happiness, that the nine hours pass quickly, except for the two hours that Steve spends swimming with Gracie.  That time passed in agonizing torture as Danny sits on the aged wooden chairs contemplating Steve’s remarkable abs, the violent bruising on his side where he stepped in and took a literal volley -- as in, multiple, a veritable barrage -- of bullets for Danny, and questioning all of his life choices, until finally he can’t take it, cops out with the sun hurting his recently sutured arm, and goes inside.  He looks at the clock and groans.

 

He’d only been outside twenty minutes.

 

He takes a cold, cold shower.

 

_ Otherwise _ , the rest of the day passes quickly, and before he knows it, it’s three in the afternoon, and he’s slipping Gracie’s backpack onto her shoulders and pulling her little wheeled suitcase behind him onto Steve’s front porch.

 

One tug on her pigtail is all it takes to remind her of her manners -- one thing he can say for Rachel, her parenting is impeccable; Gracie is both spirited and polite, a rare combination -- and she’s looking up at Steve.

 

“Thank you, Uncle Steve,” she says, her nose adorably pink, “I had a wonderful time.  Thank you for getting up early to show me the dolphins.  And for swimming with me because Danno has stitches.  It was the best day, really, the absolute best.”

 

And Danny is thinking of how she sounds, at that moment, like a tiny little sunkissed Rachel and then Steve is on his knees, both arms wrapped around Gracie, and damn it, he knows Steve is a giant, okay, with giant octopus arms, but seriously, he just  _ enfolds _ Gracie, her little arms thrown around his neck, and Steve stands up with her, clinging to him, and then what the hell even is happening, he’s holding Gracie with one arm -- like she and her backpack are just nothing, just casually, holding her as if it’s the most natural thing in all the world -- and his other arm is reaching out, that long limb easily reaching out and wrapping around Danny’s shoulders and pulling Danny to him, just casually, as it it’s the most natural thing in the world, this group hug which includes  _ the two most precious things in Danny’s world _ .

 

And just as  _ that _ realization is hitting Danny, hitting him right in the gut and taking the wind right out of him, Steve presses a kiss to Gracie’s forehead and then turns his face, just turns it right the other direction and presses a kiss to Danny’s temple.

 

“I had a wonderful time, too,” Steve says, and his lips are still actually brushing against Danny’s temple, because he hasn’t moved, and Danny can’t breathe.  And then Steve turns and kisses Gracie again, which, okay, that’s not strange because those little cheeks, they are so kissable, Danny smothers her with kisses.  And Steve is looking at Gracie, talking to Gracie, saying “Please come back, okay?” but he’s squeezing Danny’s shoulder when he says it.

 

And that’s it, that’s Danny’s whole life, everything he thought he ever knew and everything he never knew he wanted, unraveled, right there, unwoven and undone on Steve’s front porch.

 

He makes it on autopilot back to stepStan’s house, deposits Gracie with Rachel, who’s running about a bit flustered because Stan hadn’t bothered to tell her they were expected to arrive two hours early for cocktails, and no, no, it wasn’t Danny’s fault, no need to apologize.  So Danny thinks he’s going to at least get away from her without another one of those terribly uncomfortable and penetrating  _ looks _ of hers, until Gracie pipes up.

 

“Uncle Steve says the house is so lonely, except when Danno and I are there,” she says.  “He didn’t know I was awake already, and I went outside to find him, and he jumped a little bit and wiped his eyes, but I know it’s polite to pretend that you don’t notice if big strong men are crying, it makes them uncomfortable, so that’s what I did.  But I asked him if he was okay, and he smiled at me, and that’s when he said that the house was really lonely, but not when me and Danno are there.  Danno and I.”

 

And Rachel just looks at Danny, and smiles, and it was just a little bit sad, but it was genuine.  And also very much I-told-you-so, but then, she did, so Danny can’t complain.

 

“Okay, off you go, Gracie, darling, I’ve put your dress out on your bed,” she says, and Gracie pulls Danny down for a quick kiss and then she’s off.

 

Rachel gives Danny a gentle shove in the direction of the door.

 

“Off with you,” she says.  “Go be happy.”

 

Danny doesn’t even realize he’s driving back to Steve’s until he’s there, in the driveway, putting the Camaro in park and Steve . . . 

 

Steve is still sitting on the front porch.

 

Danny’s feet carry him to the porch, and he sits down next to Steve, and a cold beer magically is pressed into his hand.

 

“You came back,” Steve says.

 

“I, um, yeah,” Danny says.  “I think maybe you asked me to?  I mean, you said, ‘please come back’.  But if you meant, you know, Gracie, I can go.  If it’s a bad time.”

 

“No, I like having you here,” Steve says quickly.  “And Gracie,” he adds, also quickly.

 

“Gracie loves it here,” Danny agrees, “she’s . . . quite fond of you.”

 

“I’m quite fond of her,” Steve replies.  

 

Great, everyone is fond.  Danny sighs, frustrated, and runs his hands through his hair, wincing as he pulls his stitches.

 

“You okay, Danno?” Steve asks, and there it is again, that tone, that certain quality, that . . . face.  Danny realizes that it’s another actual face of Steve’s, and he searches his brain for a name for it, and it’s . . . okay, maybe it’s Affectionate Face.  Maybe.  But he’s going out on a limb here, he’s way out of his comfort zone, because affection . . . he’s established that’s awfully close to fond, and that can be brotherly, or whatever, so he has to test the waters.

 

“We’re, Gracie and I, we’re both very,  _ very _ fond of you, Steven,” Danny says, and he’s studying Steve for his reaction.  But Steve isn’t giving anything away, he’s taking a sip of his beer and studying his mailbox, keeping up the thousand yard stare.

 

_ Be happy, Daniel _ , Danny hears Rachel saying, and screw it, okay, he’s already not sleeping and having to go around with magazines and pillows and cold showers and one way or another, he has to settle this thing.  So he reaches his hand up and turns Steve’s face to him, so Steve can’t hide, can’t shut him out.

 

“Very fond,” he repeats, and Steve’s eyes light up with something that looks suspiciously like hope.

 

“Like, as Uncle Steve, and partner?” Steve says, cautiously, but since Danny’s hand is still cupped gently around his jaw, he lets the hope stay in his eyes.

 

“Like, as Uncle Steve, and . . . “ Danny pauses, not because he’s not sure of how he feels, because he’s pretty damn certain at this point, but because he’s not sure how Steve feels, “ . . . and partner, and.   _ And _ .”  The extra ‘and’ just hangs there . . . partner,  _ and, _ because it’s not just partner, and Danny knows it, but Steve’s gonna have to meet him that last inch, here.

 

Steve nods, in agreement, and he hadn’t shaved that morning, and his two-day stubble does all kinds of things to Danny as it rubs against his palm.

 

“Like, brotherly?” Steve suggests, and Danny stops and thinks about that a moment.  Steve doesn’t have a brother, right, so he had no point of reference, but Danny has a brother, a great brother, an awesome brother, and they’d take literal bullets for each other, too, so Danny thinks about that one hard, and comes up with an answer.

 

“Nope,” he says, emphatically.  “Not like a brother.  Not on my part.”

 

Steve thinks about that one a little bit more, and then shakes his head in the negative, and Danny is worried for a second, until Steve says, “Yeah, no.  Not like Freddie.  So, not on my part either.” 

 

And Danny thinks that’s it, that’s Steve meeting him that last inch, but he still hasn’t addressed the other glaring issue, the one that’s had him walking around uncomfortable for days and unable to sleep on his stomach for more nights than he’s willing to admit.

 

He looks away from Steve, because he’s in so deep that rejection at this crucial point is going to sting, but he’ll get over it, he’ll have to, because he’s already established that Steve needs him, and so ‘not brotherly’ will have to be enough, if he has to leave it at that.  So he takes a turn staring at the mailbox and he takes a deep breath.

 

“I’ve never been,” and he chickens out, he can’t quite put it to words, so he makes a vague gesture, a sort of muscle-and-tattoo encompassing gesture.  “Um, never before, with a guy.  Like, on the same level as, say Rachel.  Or Kono.”

 

Steve falls completely silent, and Danny can feel his eyes on him, but Steve says nothing, absolutely nothing, until Danny can’t take it any more.

 

“What,” he says, turning abruptly to look at Steve, and oh, God, those eyes, and he’s blinking slow, those ridiculous lashes fanning over his cheeks, those cheeks that are a rosy gold from the hours he spent swimming with Gracie --  _ hours _ with  _ Gracie _ \-- earlier in the day.

 

“You lost me, Danny,” Steve says, and he’s not playing coy, he’s genuinely not filling in the blanks, or maybe he’s afraid to fill in the blanks. 

 

“Attracted,” Danny says, thinking Steve will make the connection; he’s a smart guy, after all, Naval Intelligence and all that.

 

“You’re attracted to Kono?” Steve squeaks, because Chin is terrifying, and he has a shotgun.  “Everyone is attracted to Kono, Danny, what has that got to do with anything?”

 

And that’s it, Danny just loses his shit, because this is too much, really, it’s just too much and he’s unravelling quickly here, and he just launches into a rant. “I’m attracted to  _ you _ , you giant goof, I’m attracted to you like I would be attracted to Kono.  I’m attracted to Kono in a  _ generically _ sexual way, because, hello, Kono.  But I’m not attracted to Kono is a  _ specifically _ sexual way, geez, is this seriously the best they can do in Naval Intelligence?”

 

And Steve is blinking again, and seriously, how can  _ blinking _ be the thing that is making Danny uncomfortable in his shorts, again.

 

And then Steve is smirking, like all of that Naval Intelligence training kicks in all at once, and all of the loose threads have been tied together for him in a neat little bow.

 

He leans in a little closer to Danny, until Danny can smell the salt still on his skin, and the faintest hint of Gracie’s sunblock, from where Steve spent hours holding her in the surf.  And Steve sort of rumbles at him, “Danny.  Are you saying you’re attracted to me in a  _ specifically sexual _ way?”  

 

And he reaches over and  _ wraps his hand around Danny’s arm _ .

 

Danny lets out what might have been a manly, very manly groan, or it may have come out as a squeak, but who cares because Steve still has his hand wrapped around Danny’s arm and he’s squeezing it, gently, but enough to imply that he is in charge of this moment.

 

“Maybe,” Danny manages to get out, and it’s pathetic, because who’s he kidding, really?  At this point he’s proud of himself for resisting the urge to lick Steve’s tattoos, because, okay, maybe not outside on the front porch.

 

“Danny, Danny,” Steve is saying, like it’s supposed to be mocking, but it’s coming out  _ wonderstruck,  _ and Steve is standing up and pulling Danny up and manhandling him inside the house.

 

And damn it, but Danny has been too close, too on edge, and that cold shower earlier today has long abandoned him, and he whimpers, okay?  Don’t judge.

 

But Steve isn’t judging, he’s pressing Danny against the now closed front door, and he’s looking down at Danny -- and  _ again _ , with the blinking -- and he’s tracing the back of his hand over Danny’s face, like Danny is some delicate, breakable thing, but the crazy thing is Danny doesn’t mind, just as Steve doesn’t seem to mind that Danny’s hands have tangled in his shirt and he’s pulling it away, impatiently, because there are tattoos and they are not outside on Steve’s porch anymore, right?

 

And then there’s kissing and oh, God, how did she  _ know _ , how did Rachel know, and Danny stops to take a breath, and he wonders it out loud.

 

“How did Rachel  _ know _ ?” he mumbles, and then there’s no thought of Rachel at all, because Steve is apparently trying to devour him.  Sounds are being torn, literally torn out of Steve’s throat, and Danny pulls back, concerned, because of the sheer desperation of it, and looks up at Steve.

 

“She  _ said _ , Kono  _ said _ , she  _ said _ you were, you did,” Steve says, and his voice is wrecked, “but I didn’t let myself believe her.  I was afraid, what if she was wrong, what if I risked it and lost you, lost your friendship, messed up our partnership, lost  _ Gracie _ .”

 

And Danny’s throat threatens to close up at that, and he’s not an emotionally stunted SEAL like some other people, so he’s totally okay with the tears that well up in his eyes.  “You love Gracie,” he says, and it’s not a question, it’s a wonder-filled statement of fact.

 

“I adore Gracie; Gracie is fucking amazing,” Steve says, all sincerity and raw honesty.

 

“Yes, okay, but you can’t say the word ‘fucking’ in the same sentence as my daughter’s name, okay, Steven?” Danny says, and he’s smiling and wiping away tears at the same time.

 

And then Steven is back to smirking again, and this is their thing, right, this is their dynamic; dead serious one minute and playing dirty the next, and they don’t miss a beat, they’re in sync, they’re in step, every step of the way.  Danny shudders, just a bit, as Steve bends and his lips graze the shell of Danny’s ear.

 

“Can I say the word ‘fucking’ in other sentences, Daniel?” and it’s low and  _ hot _ .

 

And Danny’s brain threatens to explode as he stammers out, “Steve, I -- I’ve never . . . “ and then a flicker of understanding, a moment of  _ oh _ , and then  _ oh shit _ , and he points at Steve.  “But you -- you?”

 

And Steve nods, looks at Danny, self-conscious, and a little shy, and again,  _ again with the blinking _ , and Danny wonders if at some point this is going to be a problem, that they’re going to be on a call, at a scene, and Steve is going to blink, and that’s going to be it, he’s going to go off in his pants like a teenager.

 

“You didn’t ask, and I didn’t tell,” Steve says simply, and Danny’s heart physically hurts in his chest for this man, this beautiful, sensitive, man who adores his Gracie and how he’s had to keep an entire part of himself locked away.  Shit, no wonder he’s wound so tight, that Danny had to pick, and pick, and then pull at that thread, and Danny knows that Steve may be the one with experience -- okay, and now Danny is a little nervous -- but Steve is also the one who is fragile.

 

The thought takes Danny’s breath away, and he’s reaching up, cradling Steve’s face in his hands.  “I’ve got you,” he says, and it should be ridiculous, with Steve who towers over him, but apparently it isn’t, apparently it’s perfect because Steve’s face is suddenly tucked into the crook of his neck, and Steve is nodding and hanging on to him for dear life.

 

But, this is Steve after all, six plus feet of muscle and tattoo and reckless abandon, so after a moment, Danny is being pulled up the stairs, only mildly protesting on behalf of his trick knee, and a passing reminder of  _ stitches, Steven _ .

 

And then Danny has lost all sense of time and space, so it could be hours later, more or less, and he’s enjoying the bliss that comes with the being freshly showered, and the clean sheets, and Steve is opening the windows because  _ geez, Danny, shit, the neighbors are gonna call the cops _ was a thing that had happened earlier.  And Steve is smirking about the windows, all smug, and Danny can’t even bring himself to give him a hard time about it, because honestly? He may be inexperienced, but as far as he’s concerned, Steve’s pretty much  _ earned that right _ . 

 

Steve slides into bed behind him, and seriously, he should object, on principle, that Steve assumes he’s going to be the little spoon, but again, he just can’t summon the energy.  Danny sighs, and Steve mumbles into the back of his neck.

 

“You okay, Danno?” 

 

And there it is, it clicks into place for Danny, it  _ was _ concern, and affection, all along, and then at some point, it was more.  And they are geniuses, really, for recruiting Kono, there’s a lot of raw talent there, because she saw it.  And also, he should send Rachel flowers tomorrow.

 

“Danny?” Steve prompts, and he’s starting to shift, raise himself up on an elbow, mildly alarmed, checking on Danny.

 

“You completely unraveled me, babe,” Danny says, tugging him back down, and okay, being the little spoon when the big spoon is Steve is totally awesome, no way is he going to give up being the little spoon.

 

“Is that a good thing?” Steve asks, sleepy and sated, and therefore just slightly dazed and confused.  Because, okay, Danny may have been inexperienced, but then again, that has its own special appeal, and there is a lot -- quite a lot, actually -- to be said for enthusiasm.

 

“It’s a good thing,” Danny assures him.

 

On Monday morning, they aim for business as usual nonchalance, but Kono is on Steve’s heels, following him into his office like a sleek, sexy Doberman -- gorgeous and deadly.

 

She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t have to, just smiles at him, all dimples and sparkling eyes, a badge on her waist, and Heckler and Koch holstered on her hip, and yeah, this is why he had been momentarily derailed when her name came up in conversation, because  _ seriously _ .  She holds out her hand and he sighs, and counts one hundred dollars out of his wallet.  He’d stopped at the ATM that morning, a clipped  _ don’t ask _ his only explanation to Danny, who was now watching curiously from his office.

 

“Told you,” Kono says smugly, but then looks less smug when Chin comes in, crosses his arms across his chest.

 

“Who made the first move?” he demands of Steve, and Danny is seriously curious now, not even pretending not to crane his neck; no, screw that, he’s come out from behind his desk and is leaning in the doorway of his office, watching.

 

Steve rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and points to Danny.  Kono sighs and counts out fifty dollars into Chin’s waiting hand, and Chin turns, pocketing the money, and goes into his office.  But Kono turns back to Steve, and Danny is wondering what next, and she dangles her stack of bills in front of Steve’s face.

 

“Want it back, boss?” she says, and it’s obvious that this is a foregone conclusion, a previous discussion, and there is some sort of game here that Danny does not understand, with rules that he does not follow.  So, he’s still watching, perplexed, as Steve strides -- no,  _ swaggers _ \-- toward him, Kono still on his heels.

 

And Danny thinks, probably, that given that he’s the one in charge of procedure and protocol around here, that there should be some sort of complaint, really, but it’s very hard to accomplish that, bent slightly back over his desk with Steve’s tongue halfway down his throat.

 

“Oh,” Kono says softly behind them, and Steve doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t stop kissing Danny for a second, just holds his hand backward and closes it over the bills that Kono places in his palm.

 

And Danny feels slightly overwhelmed, but he’s determined that he is not going to be the girl, here, going weak in the knees with the big strong sailor, no, he’s going to give as good as he gets and two can play this game.  So he wraps a hand around Steve’s hip, and gives a yank, and a corresponding shuffle with an ankle, and Steve is the one leaned against the desk, legs slightly spread, and this is nice, this eliminates the height difference, and Danny just goes for it, in front of Kono and whoever the hell else wants to see.  He’s determined to pull at least one whimper out of Steve and he doesn’t stop until he’s accomplished his task.

 

“You okay, Steve?” Danny asks, pulling back, smug.  Inexperienced, not  _ clueless _ .

 

Steve blinks at him, dazed, and it takes him a minute to speak, and when he does, it’s a mix of gravelly lust and breathless wonder.

  
“Completely unraveled.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Развязка](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8552845) by [pakadoge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pakadoge/pseuds/pakadoge)




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